


Backlead

by beauregret



Series: The Sacred & The Profane [1]
Category: His Dark Materials (TV), His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Genre: F/M, Post-Affair, Pre-Canon, Slow Dancing, not-so-slow dancing, nothing says emotional release quite like dancing with your ex-lover, part antagonism and part love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:22:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29587869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beauregret/pseuds/beauregret
Summary: "What happened to avoiding prying eyes, hm? We're attracting an audience.""Are we? I hadn't noticed." He's lying. She's caught his eyes trailing across the watching crowd at least four times in the last couple of minutes."Are you trying to cause a controversy?""Don't flatter yourself, Marisa. Look at them - they're all too drunk on wine and heresy, and they'll forget that we were ever dancing together or even here a few days from now. So, if we have an audience...how about we give them a show?"-----Asriel questions Marisa's motives when she shows up to a ball without warning, and the two of them revisit long-buried feelings.
Relationships: Lord Asriel/Marisa Coulter
Series: The Sacred & The Profane [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2173752
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	Backlead

**Author's Note:**

> Rated mature because better safe than sorry - there's nothing graphic, but these two are not a healthy couple and it sure shows lmao
> 
> Dedicated to the many people I bounced ideas off of for this (y'all know who you are), and the many Masriel fans out there who like me are not-so-patiently waiting for s3. Hope you enjoy reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it! 
> 
> \-----
> 
> Backlead: A term used in a couples' dance when the follower executes steps without waiting for, or sometimes contrary to, the lead's lead. Can also be used to refer to when one individual will aggressively hijack the lead from the other.
> 
> "We were arguing. You want love to be like this every day don't you? 92 degrees even in the shade. This intensity, this heat, sun like a disc-saw through your body."  
> \--Jeanette Winterson, from 'Written on the Body'.

The firm clicking of Marisa's heels against the floor punctuates her entrance into the ballroom, drawing the attention of more than a few guests in her direction for a few precious seconds before they resume with their own conversations. By her side, the golden monkey strolls in with her, his eyes trained forward and disregarding any and all glances from the overtly curious daemons in their vicinity.

 _'Just keep looking in front,'_ she reminds him harshly, as if he needs any reminder of how exactly she wants tonight to go.

Every other year, the colleges of Oxford would come together for a single night just before Christmas to allow scholars and alumni alike to mix in a less academically-inclined setting. There were no restrictions on the basis of gender or occupation - a rarity in Magisterium-controlled Brytain, but they were able to utilise their academic freedoms to lift these barriers from time to time. Anyone with any kind of association with any of the colleges would be invited to attend, and most of the invitees welcomed the opportunity for a night away from library books and scholastic ventures.

As an alumni of St Sophia's college, an invitation had therefore once more found its way to Marisa's London apartment a few weeks before the event, and once more she had examined the details with disdain and a firm dislike of the idea of attending. She had turned the invitation down the previous few times, and when she'd last attended it had been on Edward Coulter's arm. A lot has changed since then. _She_ has changed since then.

What convinces her to join the ranks of the guests this time is whispers in the air about potential heretical discussions at Jordan College; about the Rusakov particle in particular. Once upon a time she would have attempted to turn a blind eye to such heretical hearsay, out of loyalty to a man she was not married to and curiosity for the academic secrets he seemed so hellbent on unravelling, but now all she sees is opportunity. Her standing in the Magisterium, as high and as powerful as it may be, was nevertheless incredibly fragile.

In these whispers, she sees a chance to further solidify her power.

That does not, however, make her any more thrilled about the occasion once the date in question arrives. She spends two hours that afternoon picking an outfit to wear; the monkey offering his own silent opinion by pulling various dresses off their hangers for her to try, and everything she tries on could work but none of them feel _right._ Some feel too revealing for an occasion like this, whilst others feel too _safe_ to make the kind of statement that she's aiming for.

In the end, she settles for a long-sleeved dress made of cardinal red silk - with a small, subtle slit running up one side to just above her knee and a trail of silver gemstones accentuating the deep v-neckline. Both of those features would still keep the dress within the boundaries of acceptable modesty for an event like this, but they would draw the crowd's attention all the same. It leaves her feeling powerful, and yet she still pulls at the sleeves and brushes down the silk as if an imperfection was there and stubbornly refusing to come off.

"It's because _he_ could be there," her daemon verbalises the reason for her anxiety before she's even reached that stage herself. "If he's not in the North, he _will_ be there--"

"-And we'll be prepared for him. This won't be the first time we've seen Asriel since our..." not affair; even now she refuses to accept that word as appropriate identification. "... _liaison_."

But she knows his apprehension well. As soon as she'd realised she was pregnant with Lyra she had backtracked through the previous couple of months to try and figure out which of her lovers was likely to be the father, and she remembers all too well the way her stomach had tied itself in knots when she realised her daughter was likely the product of an affair that had continued through the last winter ball she'd attended. It had been a good night at the time, but it had also been the night where her life had started to spiral beyond her control.

But even so, she still will not allow the possibility of a reunion with her former lover to dampen her determination, nor will she allow it to be reflected in her daemon's behaviour.

"This is _different,_ Marisa," he protests, pacing restlessly on her chest of drawers as she applies the final few touches of makeup, including a deep red lipstick that matched the colour of her dress. "Things didn't end so well for us the last time we went to this ball."

"No...they didn't. But we have avoided making an appearance for long enough, so we will be attending tonight."

"But Marisa--"

Her frayed temper sees the back of her hand collide with his cheek before he has time to even see it coming, and the sting of the slap is harsh enough to make Marisa feel it on her own skin. She doesn't react though - and to his credit, he also barely flinches or cowers after the initial impact. But her point has been made all too clear, and despite his still-obvious objections to tonight's event, he does not make any further attempts to challenge her on the matter.

And that is how she finds herself in the ballroom, attracting the gaze of many men (and, to her silent amusement, the more subtly turned heads of a fair few women too) as she makes purposeful strides through the room. Of course, she couldn't help but notice along the way the grandeur of the walls, the chandeliers and the warm colours that exuded wealth; the colleges may have claimed that the setting of tonight's events would feel less scholarly, but she knew between this room and the black tie dress code that this was only a front for them to demonstrate their immense wealth and freedom by choosing a similarly-pretentious venue instead.

All the more reason, as far as she's concerned, to see what else they may be eager to flaunt in this new setting. And so she takes a glass of wine from a nearby waiter, and seeks out some of her former academic colleagues to make pleasant conversation with.

She engages in small talk, careful not to allow anyone too much room to pry into her own personal matters, and it isn't a hard task. Most of the women she once studied with were now married to incredibly dull men, leading incredibly dull lives; and yet they all spoke as if they were the most noteworthy people in Brytain. As frayed and as imperfect as her own marriage had been, there had at least been no doubting Edward Coulter's ability to rise up the ranks, and to bring her with him to let her share in his power. The only power any of these women had was power over their children, and she didn't envy them for that.

The monkey perches delicately on her shoulder, refusing to acknowledge their daemon companions with anything more than a polite nod, because his job is not to socialise but instead to be on lookout. Every now and again he straightens up and his tail flicks anxiously against her back, as if he's just noticed something of interest, but each time ends in disappointment, and her irritation with him continues to grow.

At one point, her daemon's hand suddenly digs painfully tight into her shoulder, and her hand's already halfway up to twist in his fur in warning before he _whines,_ startling her enough to make her cast a glance over her shoulder.

Straight away, her eyes caught the unmistakable glimpse of silver snow leopard fur - and next to that, occupied within his own social circle, was none other than Lord Asriel.

He is in conversation with the Master of Jordan College and another man who she can only presume must be the college's esteemed Librarian, and although her eyes can only linger on him for a second at most before she risks drawing suspicious glances from her present company, the simple knowledge that he is here is enough to stir a burning curiosity in her chest that does not die down.

So she continues her conversation with her fellow scholars and alumni, but her daemon - still from his perch on her shoulder - keeps a vigilant eye on her former lover and all of his accomplices. At no point is there any obvious indication that they have been spotted, but at one point, after a whisper in Asriel's ear from a fellow scholar, Stelmaria rises to her feet and vigilantly looks around the room as if she'd caught the scent of prey, and the monkey darts down from Marisa's shoulder to hide among the crowd.

He is only spared from her anger because she will not debase herself in such an unnatural manner whilst in the public eye. But it is also the final straw in her long-frayed patience.

The night was no longer young, she wasn't getting any closer to getting to the heart of the heretical rumors that had brought her here to start with, and the monkey's refusal to settle down ever since he'd first laid eyes on Asriel was beginning to draw unwelcome glances from other daemons. Marisa was on the verge of a headache, and the frustration was becoming too much to simply ignore. She decides there and then that she'll seek out one more conversation, and if nothing useful comes of it, she'll be able to leave knowing that she's stayed long enough for her early exit to no longer cause suspicion.

Her daemon strolls along a few paces ahead of her, sifting through crowds of people as he attempts to seek and point out anyone who may be of note. She follows behind, her eyes firmly trained forwards, her second glass of wine nearly completely empty by this point; the knowledge that she is still easily among the most sober people at this ball making it easy for the corner of her lip to curl upwards in a knowing smile.

People always talk more freely when not fully in control of their senses.

The monkey turns around as if to speak to her, only for the words to die in his throat as soon as he looks over in her direction. She initially assumes it's out of fear for angering her further - _and rightfully so,_ she thinks to herself - until she realises his eyes are not level with hers. 

A flash of silver fur out of the corner of her eyes confirms her suspicions.

A second later, Stelmaria properly slinks into view, forcing her to stop walking by cutting off her path, but keeping her brilliant golden eyes trained completely on the monkey the whole time. Marisa has a moment of weary resignation wash over her before she steels herself, and turns away from the snow leopard to find herself face to face with Asriel.

"It's been a while, Marisa." 

It's a pleasant enough statement and his smile seems courteous enough; other, _lesser_ women would certainly by this point be disarmed by his charm and his smartly-dressed appearance and lower their own guards as a result. But Marisa knows better. After all, only a couple of feet away from them both, a low rumble was emanating from Stelmaria's chest as she bared her teeth at the monkey, who refused to cower or flinch at the sight but still glanced up at his human counterpart for direction all the same.

His expression is more smirk than smile; a show of pride at having so obviously caught her out.

"Asriel," she cocks her head, and doesn't miss the brief moment where his eyes trail towards her neckline. "What a pleasant surprise."

"Don't try to fool me, I know you'd rather see me dead or somewhere far away from you."

"And yet, here you are." 

"And yet, here I am."

He brings his glass up to his lips, deliberately slow in his savouring of the tokay. Out of the corner of her eye she notices a handful of guests in their close vicinity exchange nervous glances with each other, shoulders tensed as if they expected to become collateral damage from a fight at any given moment (and she doesn't _entirely_ blame them for the apprehension, if Stelmaria's fur remaining on end was anything to go by). She manages a deadpan expression all the same, eyes darting back to her former lover and his _annoyingly_ smug smile. Her mouth opens, ready to throw another barbed comment in his direction--

"Marisa, We should talk." 

She inhales a deep breath to mask her irritation at being interrupted, and sighs her way into a soft, _fake_ smile before she attempts to speak again.

"You're making some of the guests uncomfortable, _my_ _lord,_ " The last word is deliberately dragged out; an open show of mockery against the one part of his former life the courts had failed to strip from him. "We're starting to attract an audience."

He doesn't bother to look away from her to verify that observation, and she feels her heart race under the intensity of his gaze.

"I know a place where we can talk without interruption, or without prying eyes and ears." Upon hearing the final part of that sentence - and Asriel had made a point of raising his voice towards the end just enough for others to hear - the eavesdropping individuals in question turn away sharply to busy themselves with other, more boring conversations. Marisa allows herself a small smile, swallowing down her gratitude for his intervention with the last of her drink, and then arches a sly brow at her former lover.

"And where would that place be?"

"We're at a _ball,_ Marisa. It would be very unbecoming of us to attend without dancing at least once this evening - and where better to converse without intrusion or interference?"

He finishes the last of his tokay and gives their empty glasses to a passing waiter before offering a hand out to her in silent invitation. It's a chivalrous gesture, and he could almost be mistaken for being gentlemanly at this point...were it not for the fact that Marisa couldn't help but feel like he was playing the part of a spider luring her into an intricate flytrap of his design. She bites all the same however, because she understands his reasoning, and she too wouldn't mind the subtle privacy. 

Her hand firmly takes his as they both take confident strides towards the dancefloor.

They both take up perfect closed form: one of her hands on his shoulder, one of his on the small of her back, and the two remaining hands interlocked with each other in gentle harmony. Marisa takes silent stock of her situation; of everything still left unsaid between them; and couldn't help but notice in passing that even in spite of all the animosity that punctuated their every word, his hold on her still felt as gentle as it did the last time they had been at this ball together.

Their daemons both wait at the sidelines. Stelmaria lays Sphinx-like on the floor, entirely uncaring in regards to whether she was in anyone else's way, and the golden monkey sits next to her. He chances his luck when he lifts a hand towards the back of her ears.

Marisa's breath catches in her chest when the snow leopard leans into her daemon's touch. 

For a minute, she is lost - the room, even the entire world, pares down to just her, Asriel, their daemons, and all the _what ifs_ and _what could have beens_ that have lingered in the air between them ever since the moment they first laid eyes on each other. Their gentle waltz and soft sways to the music open up her mind to what could've happened if things had been different:

In another timeline, they might be attending every ball on each other's arm, and dancing together with affection instead of tense acrimony. Or maybe they would be engaged in conversation with the most elite of scholars, whose bright minds would still be no match for the strength of their convictions and combined intellect. Maybe they'd do both in the same night: she'd metaphorically sweep the floor with them in an intellectual debate, and then he'd sweep her off her feet on the dancefloor to show to everyone else that she was with him and him alone.

They would be a force to be reckoned with, and they would still be so madly in love with each other, and they would be _powerful._ For a second, Marisa's thoughts turn to that timeline, and for the first time that night, accompanied by the deep sense of longing that suddenly felt heavy in her chest, she knows a kind of envy so painful that it threatens to bruise her heart even in spite of all the unrelenting walls she'd placed around it.

Had she been paying attention, she might've noticed Asriel's hold on her loosen during that same second. He too was lost in the idea of how differently they could've turned out. He too could feel Stelmaria's fur against the monkey's hand, gentle and familiar even after all these years. But he is also the first to break both the silence and the joint illusion that their lives could ever have turned out differently to the way they were now.

"I hear you've been busy."

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be busy?" She is the picture of harmlessness, flashing an innocent smile as her eyes glinted with mischief. "A Magisterium official's work is never finished."

"So you're a holy woman now?" He is unashamedly mocking her; his voice drips with sarcasm. "The Marisa I remember was more sinner than saint, and she was all the better for that."

"The Marisa you remember is long gone, Asriel."

He goes uncomfortably silent at that. But for the sake of her dignity and his pride (but primarily the former), she won't push the matter further, for she could already feel her daemon's fur bristling on its ends and she knew that Stelmaria was most likely expressing her own displeasure to him as they watched their human counterparts. The version of her that he knew from before had died the moment her affair had been exposed, and it was not a wound she intended to reopen.

Her focus instead turns to what exactly they were _doing._

For a man who never seemed to feel entirely comfortable in the heart of civilised society, Asriel was actually proving to be quite the competent lead in their dance, and Marisa couldn't help but note how comfortable he seemed to be in this kind of embrace. They'd never really had the chance to dance together like this during their affair. At balls such as this, Marisa had been expected to dance only with her husband, and the closest thing to this that she'd had with Asriel was a slow sway under the stars that had barely passed as a dance, when they'd shared a stolen moment away from everyone else at the same events and had nothing except the moonlight to bear witness to them.

She had always suspected him to be annoyingly competent at ballroom dancing, as was his favoured state when it came to anything that didn't appear to befit a man who preferred an explorer's life to his own prestigious upbringings. But here he was, surpassing her expectations. Like any good leader, his hand against her back is gentle, but firm; a silent guide for where each step was to be taken.

And like any good follower, she allows him to guide her steps, and places her trust in him.

A quieter moment in the music grants them an opportunity to talk, and Asriel is the first to take advantage of it.

"Why are you here, Marisa?"

She can't help but laugh, because _of course_ he would be suspicious. 

"Need I remind you that I'm a member of St Sophia's, Asriel? I was invited."

"You've never liked these events. Last I recall, you used to look for any excuse to create some distance between yourself and your husband--"

"Because I simply didn't want to be an inconvenience to him." 

"Say what you will if it helps you sleep better at night. But we both know why you _really_ wanted to slip away from him."

She couldn't forget if she tried. Problem is, every time Asriel's opened his mouth so far, she's felt her contempt for him grow stronger and stronger. His subtle hint at their affair had done nothing to change that. So, in the absence of any reasonable way to argue against his point, she opts to change the subject entirely.

"I would say that I hear you've been busy too, but you don't always make a habit of publicising your work, do you? You should write about your travels. You are an explorer, after all - I'm sure you would have many interested readers."

"I think you and I both know why I'll never write about that."

"And why is that?" She already knows the reason, but she's trying to force the admission of his heresy out of him, for the simple satisfaction of being able to hold that over him.

Unfortunately for her, he just isn't playing along.

"Because I have bigger things to focus on than the opinions of others."

"But writing isn't about obtaining the opinions of others, is it?" She muses out loud. "It's about having the ability to reach out to _thousands_ of people and open their eyes to new ways of seeing the world. You've never once shied away from sharing your worldly viewpoints with anyone who will listen - why start now?"

"I suppose you have a point. And at least it would be more fascinating than writing about the bronze clocks of Benin--"

There went the last of her patience with him. "-Must you insist on getting under my skin?"

"Must you insist on always biting when someone lays out bait?"

Marisa wipes the cocksure grin off his face with a deliberate mis-step onto his foot. 

"Oops." Comes the closest thing to a fake-apology that she'll give, innocently whispered into his ear as if she was intending to tell him a secret instead.

Asriel winces, and then pulls her closer to him, almost managing to disorient her when he immediately transitions them into a spin afterwards.

"Oops." Comes the mocking whisper back into her ear.

The monkey twists his hand in Stelmaria's fur, and Asriel barely manages to avoid stumbling straight into Marisa.

He stops trying to outwit her after that.

"For what it's worth," he starts after a brief but surprisingly comfortable silence. "I would consider the book, were I not heading back to the North in a couple of days--"

"Again?" Last time she'd checked, he'd only returned to Brytain a week or so ago. "Why so soon?"

"A diplomatic mission on behalf of Jordan College, to the King of Lapland." 

It takes all of Marisa's willpower to not immediately laugh in his face at the audacity of his lie. But unfortunately for him, she has no willpower left to also spare him from her ridicule.

"Oh how the times have changed - Asriel Belacqua: explorer, heretic, and now _diplomat_ too. You're gaining quite the resumé." 

He isn't bothering to entertain her amused mockery, and so she continues.

"Maybe you could write about your diplomatic work, I'm sure you would have _much_ to teach the rest of us--"

"If you're quite finished with your diatribe against my ability to be an ambassador--" This time she _does_ laugh in his face. " _-And_ if you're done with interrupting me - I was also going to point out that the Magisterium would immediately take to burning every copy of any book I wrote, should one ever be published."

She ceases her chuckle and tilts her head, smug in the satisfaction that he's finally starting to talk to her about what she wants to hear. "Surely you've seen _plenty_ in your Northern adventures that don't border on the wrong side of fanaticism."

"Oh come now, you know full well just how much attention I pay to that side of the North." Which is to say, precisely none at all.

There's a brief interlude when Asriel quickly guides them in another direction just in time to avoid colliding with a less attentive couple, and she uses that time to choose her next words carefully, lacing her voice with just the right amount of regret for him to notice. "Well...I suppose it would be for the best that you don't write a book after all. We wouldn't want the Magisterium to disapprove after all, would we?"

"Of course you wouldn't. You're a zealous woman, after all." His voice is dripping with sarcasm. "So much so, in fact, that I imagine it's safe to assume in this instance that your new lover is Magisterium-approved?"

Her eyebrow raises at that comment. Carlo had been away on business in Geneva for the last month (or so he claimed, although she didn't believe that to be the full truth), and before that there hadn't been a single occasion where the two of them had attended the same events as Asriel. Word, Marisa realises, still travels unnervingly fast when it's travelling to him.

Even so, she does not grace him with an immediate answer, forcing him to be more blunt with his words.

"I've known about Boreal for a while, Marisa."

"How long?"

"Long enough."

The most irritating thing about Asriel, in her opinion, was that it was impossible to force an answer out of him that he simply didn't _want_ to share. So she mentally files that line of direct enquiry away for another time and draws her attention to another tried and tested tactic.

"Why do you care about who I do and don't take as a lover, Asriel?"

"What gives you the impression that I care?"

"You brought Boreal up, _unprompted_ , when I was under the impression that you didn't even know who he was…" Marisa's voice trails off as her mind recalls all the times her daemon had to placate an obviously envious Stelmaria after they'd spent time near Edward and his daemon, and her eyes widen in overdramatically feigned surprise when she refocuses on Asriel. "You're jealous, aren't you?"

His eyes immediately darken. "You think too highly of yourself."

Hers sparkle with malice. "And you're avoiding the question."

"It's a pointless question; I won't waste my breath on answering it."

"But you'll continue to waste your breath on needlessly skirting your way around everything that I ask." She widens her grin, enjoying his growing irritation. "If you won't answer me, then I will assume that you _are_ jealous."

"Believe what you want. I care not for how you choose to interpret my circumvention."

She opens her mouth to retort, only to become vaguely aware of the music coming to a stop, and she halts their own movements with a firm hand on his chest before they start to look out of place against the rest of the waiting crowd.

"Well...would you look at that? It appears that our dance is over already--"

Asriel isn't letting go of her. "Stay with me, Marisa."

She couldn't _quite_ tell what he was thinking or feeling this time when she looked into his eyes, and all that did was cause her to falter. "Asriel...what do you--"

"One more dance. And then you can go and do whatever it is you _really_ came here to do."

"You don't believe me about that invite?" 

"I believe the invite. I _don't_ believe that you chose to attend purely because you wanted to socialise."

The musicians begin to play another song; one with a faster tempo and more upbeat tune, and they exchange a daring look before Asriel puts words to their intentions.

"In any event, I'm up for another dance if you are... then again, it is a faster song, so we'll need something more suitable than a waltz. Are you sure you'll be able to keep up?"

Truth be told, Marisa had intended to walk away from him the moment their waltz was over, and retreat to the safety of her hotel so she could start to process the night's events. But as soon as the challenge was posed to her, she couldn't resist. 

She meets Asriel's audacious smirk with a wild grin of her own. Their prior animosity gives way to a more competitive nature; a mischievous need to out-perform each other. At that moment, it feels as if they were once more the adventurous lovers that they were a decade earlier as opposed to the bickering enemies that they were now.

"I can do _more_ than keep up. Try not to fall behind, will you?"

Before he can retort, she tightens her grip on him and pulls him closer, forcibly seizing the role of leadership from him whilst he remained too caught off guard to try and resist. But her control only lasts for a few seconds before he lifts her into a twirl. When she's back in position, he's taken the lead again.

She _really_ wishes he would stop looking so proud of himself every time he gained a momentary advantage over her.

With the next step to the left, she once again took control over their dance. With the next step to the right, he once again reclaimed it from her. And so this constant back-and forth continued, their steps and turns becoming faster to match the rhythm of the music, and more passionate to match their constant desire to outmaneuver each other, and more dangerous too, for a reason Marisa only realises when she breaks eye contact for a moment whilst she is leading in order to check their surroundings:

Their little contest of power was beginning to draw the attention of some of the other guests.

Marisa doesn't truly register that thought at first - she was too focused on maintaining pace and making sure she gave Asriel no stumble or slip-up that he could use against her. But as the tempo of the song slowed to a slower pace, and they both settled on a temporary truce and took the opportunity to take a breather, she realised what was happening, and her playful smirk turns to a concerned frown.

She leans closer to Asriel and speaks in an undertone. "What happened to avoiding prying eyes, hm? We're attracting an audience."

"Are we? I hadn't noticed." He's lying. She's caught his eyes trailing across the watching crowd at least four times in the last couple of minutes.

"Are you _trying_ to cause a controversy?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Marisa. Look at them - they're all too drunk on wine and heresy, and they'll forget that we were ever dancing together or even _here_ a few days from now." 

A few days from now, she'll realise that she really should've pulled him up on the heresy comment. A year or so from now, she'll come to learn about the alethiometer and the collection of banned books and realise just how much he'd dangled the truth in front of her.

Right now, she is too busy scanning across the sidelines to verify his claim. He's right; many of the guests were lost to a gentle bliss, watching them but not truly _seeing_ them, because there was nobody looking hard enough to let the recognition of who they were sink in.

Asriel's lips brush against her ear while she is sidetracked. "So, if we have an audience...how about we give them a show?" 

Marisa snaps back to him, giving a soft laugh at his suggestion. "I think that's what we've already been doing this whole time."

The song begins to pick back up, and with it, their stalemate is broken.

Unlike their earlier waltz, there is no time or energy to waste on melancholy semantics. She could've so easily fallen back into the mental abyss of wondering if they ever did reconcile with each other in another life or timeline - and she could reasonably guess that Asriel ran the same risk himself. But if she started to wonder, she would become lost. Already, Asriel was pressing on, forcing her to follow his lead and not giving her an opportunity to wrestle control from him.

So she matches him step-for-step. Nothing else and nobody else had her focus right now; as far as they were both concerned, they only had eyes for each other, and they danced as if they were the only two individuals in the room.

Their daemons don't openly challenge each other, for it wasn't them that was currently at the heart of everyone else's attention. But both of them observe their human counterparts with amusement, leaning against each other as if they needed the other for support; an antithesis to the fast-paced, boisterous way in which Marisa and Asriel fought each other at every turn, and yet still formed a coherent tango out of that fight. She could feel the warmth of that embrace in her chest, and she knows he would be feeling the same way in his, but that feeling was currently playing second fiddle to their competitive nature.

She doesn't seize control from him, but refuses to allow herself to be a passive participant either. In this, and in the way they drew the attention of the surrounding guests, they acted as _equals._

Towards the end, as the song reaches its final few notes and he spins her, she sweeps her foot across the floor gracefully and brings her leg up to hook around his thigh. It stays there when he pulls her in, closer than he'd ever dared to do on previous occasions, and dips her just far enough for her back to arch elegantly.

Asriel pulls her back up as soon as the music comes to a stop, wild eyes sparkling with the satisfaction of the impression they'd just made on everyone else, and she can't help but laugh as her own post-dance bliss momentarily consumes her.

"Do you think that was enough of a show that we put on?" She asks quietly enough for only the two of them to hear.

"Definitely."

They remain in a precarious embrace, catching their breath; radiating a comfortable warmth. She is borderline swooning in his arms, lightheaded and surprisingly at peace.

"So...don't you have somewhere you need to _be,_ Marisa?"

Or at least, she'd felt at peace until Asriel had felt the need to ruin the mood. 

But she knows the game is up; any longer in his proximity, and she will no doubt be subjected to further interrogation regarding her intentions. Besides, she wouldn't mind some fresh air. The monkey slowly detaches himself from Stelmaria, ignoring her low rumbles of complaint no matter how much he really wished to placate her, and Marisa pulls away from Asriel, ignoring the sudden cold wave that washed over her body from their separation.

One of her hands remains clasped within his, a final link between who they had been a few minutes earlier and who they were now. She meets his unrelenting stare with a small, mocking curtsy.

"Thank you for the dance, _my lord_ ," once again, she couldn't resist the sneering reference to his title. "And now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like some privacy."

He raises her hand, his lips brushing against her knuckles - gentle and taunting all at once - and her hand curls around his to resemble something closer to a tight fist before he lets her go with a knowing smile.

She can already tell, much to her chagrin, that this won't be the last time she talks to him tonight.

* * *

The corridor leading away from the ballroom was frigid and dark, with the light of the moon shining through the windows providing the only source of illumination. Statues of important (if not pretentious and most likely undeserving) men line the hallway alongside old paintings and the occasional artefact; no doubt during the day this would be a place frequently occupied by intrigued scholars and young men seeking idols to aspire towards. But now, at night with the area off-limits to all guests - which was the primary reason Marisa had chosen to come here - it was hauntingly silent.

Even so, the change in atmosphere was a welcome change of pace for her; even in spite of the shiver she felt from the first moment where cool air had met exposed skin. It brought her completely back to her senses, and provided a sense of grounding that she so desperately needed after that encounter.

That doesn't stop her from being braced for more trouble, however. She knows the doors are heavy and will shut quickly; so much so, that they should fully close behind her before she even makes it ten steps down the corridor at her current pace. So, for ease of mind, she counts her steps, and when she finally hears the heavy slam of closing doors behind her, she stops in her tracks. 

She'd counted all the way up to seventeen.

Asriel has opted to follow her instead of leaving her to her own devices - and she knew it was him, because nobody else would be bold or foolish enough to try and disturb her (especially in a restricted area) after she'd requested some time to herself. There was no point in trying to walk away from him now when all he would do is follow until she eventually gave up on ignoring him.

This is the point where she very nearly mentally curses the Authority for seeing fit to continuously throw this man in her way during the course of this evening.

She doesn't look back - and, after a glare that warned him again doing otherwise, neither does the golden monkey. But Marisa realises with a start that she can't hear footsteps behind her. Even in light of how graceful he had been when they had danced together only a few minutes earlier, she had still forgotten the way in which he could so easily change from dominating a room with his mere presence to moving so silently that it was as if he was part of the shadows.

Anyone else would still be unaware that he was behind them, and would inevitably become startled once they realised that he was there. She, however, is used to his tricks, and the monkey shatters his illusion of stealth by leaping off her shoulder to confront Stelmaria, dramatically screeching at her, and Marisa makes a point of loudly sighing in irritation before turning around.

"I asked for some privacy."

"For once in your life, it would not kill you to stop lying to me. You only want privacy because you know I'm catching onto your real motives," he starts, quickly closing the distance between them until he's stood directly in front of her, but still partially obscured by shadow; a stark contrast to how she was currently bathed in moonlight from the closest window. "Why are you _really_ here _,_ Marisa?"

"Haven't you asked this question once already?" She plays the part of the innocent guest, raising an eyebrow in easily-feigned confusion. "I told you already - as a member of St Sophia's College, I have every right to be here--"

"-You have that right, and you gave me that answer earlier, and now I want the truth."

Behind him, Stelmaria attempts to pounce on the golden monkey, and growls in frustration when he jumps out of the way just in time and climbs up to perch on top of a statue, staring down at her with taunting eyes. She responds by resting two paws against the stone, staring back with her teeth bared.

Neither Marisa nor her monkey make any attempt to placate their counterparts.

Asriel, ever the image of stark and uncompromising severity, tucks his hands into his pockets and simply _waits_ for an explanation, glaring at her the whole time.

"Wouldn't it be so much easier for you if I was here to fulfill some ulterior motive?" Her voice is bordering on a more musical tone; taunting him for his persistence and daring him to challenge her further, all at once. "I am _allowed_ to attend parties that I have been invited to. Even if it means I have to deal with the displeasure of your company--"

"-Are you here because of Lyra?"

The question comes as such a shock to her that she forcefully blinks. 

And then, as if finding the long-lost final piece of a jigsaw puzzle, everything falls into place in her mind.

 _That_ was why he had insisted on remaining as a thorn in her side throughout the evening. She hadn't once considered the idea of coming to Oxford to see her daughter - how could she, when even the law had refused to intervene when he had challenged them to try and undo her scholastic sanctuary? Marisa was a proud woman, and undaunted in the face of adversity, and yet Asriel's commands regarding Lyra's safety had felt so absolute than even she didn't dare to defy him. 

So like the proud woman that she was, she had tried to forget about their child. Curiosity had tempted her many times; through the simple wondering of how she was growing up and whether she knew anything of who her mother was. Maybe she didn't know anything about Marisa. Knowing Asriel, she almost _definitely_ didn't know anything about Marisa. But Marisa was still curious, and intrigued, and every now and again she even felt an inexplicable longing for a glimpse at what it could have been like to raise a daughter, _her_ daughter, in this world; to instill in her all the strengths and beliefs that she wished she had mastered herself at a much earlier stage in her life.

That same longing was now suddenly much too unbearable to brush aside, and it turns to anger in an instant, only for her to quickly suppress it before turning her scowl to Asriel. "I haven't even _remotely_ entertained the idea of meeting her - although I suspect you only care about her when it comes to holding an advantage over me."

"Don't be ridiculous. You're being childish, Marisa." 

"Says the man who took a child to an outdated institution; full of outdated individuals; set in their outdated ways, just so I wouldn't be able to reach her."

"And I suppose _you're_ the antithesis to their - as you would have it - outdated ways?" He sneered at her, his grip on his composure slowly failing him. "You may not _look_ like the rest of the Magisterium's leaders, but it makes your work with them no less repulsive." 

"I _believe_ in the work that I am doing--"

"I think that's the first truly honest thing you've said to me all evening."

Behind him, his daemon relents and returns to being on all fours, taking a couple of steps back to better observe the monkey. He - against his human's judgement - starts to climb down the statue to meet her, and Marisa is on the verge of warning him to stay put--

Stelmaria snarls before she can do so, and he thinks better of putting himself within touching distance for now.

Asriel turns his head away from her to exchange a look with his daemon, and she takes advantage of his distraction to place a hand on his tie and tug it, _hard._

When he snaps back to her only a second later, eyes burning with frustration, she cocks her head and curls her lips with malicious inquisition. He's asking her too many questions. Now it was her turn.

"Why are _you_ here, Asriel?" She says, her thumb running gently along the surface of his tie. "This whole charade is so _very_ un-northerly...don't you feel out of place here, like you used to when you once admitted to finding these evenings unbearable?"

"I'm here for the same reason as the one you claim: I was invited."

"You have _never_ cared about the social slights that come with refusing invitations--"

"-It's been a long time since I've spoken to many of my old friends and academic peers. What better way to reunite than at a ball like tonight?" 

He had the gall to insinuate that _she_ was the one constantly lying through her teeth only five minutes ago, and now here he was. Lying through his teeth. Doing exactly what he had been berating her for doing. She knows there's an ulterior motive - whether it be pre-emptively seeking support for further funding before an official vote; or to discuss heretical fantasies in an environment that was well proven to be an unreliable source of evidence against such crimes. She'd happily bet much of her wealth on at least one of those two trains of thought being correct, if for no other reason than because Asriel was quite possibly the only person she knew who despised small talk more than she did.

"I'm not convinced. What do you stand to gain from being here tonight?"

"I'll tell you, if you tell me what you're looking to gain."

"Nothing, except for the pleasure of an enjoyable evening."

"Then it appears we're at a stalemate."

She gives a resigned sigh, and her hand leaves his chest to gently twirl a strand of her hair. 

"There is no stalemate, Asriel. I've answered your questions, and yet you've still spent much of this evening insisting on remaining by my side--"

As if she had just made a surprising revelation, she interrupts her own sentence with an over-exaggerated gasp.

There is nothing benevolent about the way her voice drops to a quieter, sultry tone.

"...Were you hoping I'd cave in to temptation again and fall back into your arms? Your recent travels in the North must have made you lonely and _desperate--_ " 

"You are _insufferable_." 

"And you haven't answered me." She feigns an attempt to placate his fraying temper by once again reaching for his tie, knowing that it would actually have the opposite effect on him. She was right. He grabs her hand before it reaches him, and she uses her other hand to grab his wrist.

All she's doing at this point is irritating him - and at this point, she's just waiting for one of them to turn reckless.

The monkey jumps down, landing on the cold floor with a soft thud. He doesn't even so much as whimper when Stelmaria immediately prowls back across to him and pins him against the wall using one of her paws, although Marisa jolts involuntarily.

Asriel is decidedly unimpressed with her current behaviour. "I don't know why you insist on remaining a thorn in my side, Marisa, but all I am hoping for right now is for you to cease being a _frustration_."

 _There._ There's the opportunity to invite in the aforementioned recklessness that she was waiting for.

She edges closer to him, hand still tightly gripping his wrist.

"If I am frustrating you so much, then why don't you try and stop me?"

Stelmaria releases a deep growl like thunder against the monkey's fur, her teeth against his throat and Marisa can't suppress the chill running down her spine, all too aware of the potential that Asriel has to mirror those actions and sink his teeth into her neck in ways far more brutal than in prior nights of passion. She knows that he _could_ do that; tear her apart, and leave her bleeding out - a victim of her own pride just as much as his.

And yet all the same, she still offers herself up to him like a sacrificial lamb awaiting slaughter, baring her throat for him to take.

"Come on, Asriel - kill me. Or kiss me. Either way...do _something._ "

Marisa drags his hand to the base of her neck to punctuate her point, and her monkey mirrors her, pulling Stelmaria's paw against him. She is quick to notice when Asriel simply lets his hand rest against her skin instead of moving to grab her. In fact, he has gone unnervingly still, to the point where she can almost see the cogs in his head turning, desperately trying to work out if there was an ulterior motive to her demand. And she patiently waits - for what felt like minutes but was only really a handful of seconds - for him to reach a conclusion that she'd already worked out long before this point.

She feels nothing short of triumphant when he uses his hand against her chest as leverage to push her back against the wall. And then he is on her in an instant - finally stepping into the light in the process - grabbing a fistful of her hair instead of her neck.

" _Damn_ you, Marisa." He curses through gritted teeth before crushing his mouth against hers with blazing heat.

All his curse does is prove what she already knew: that Asriel would only have it in him to kill her if he had no other choice in the matter.

Not one to ignore a chance to capitalise on an opportunity, her hand makes quick work of undoing his tie before it then twists in the collar of his shirt to give her leverage as she flips their positions, relishing the momentary catch in his breath. Asriel's back collides against the wall, and Marisa feels Stelmaria's claws dig slightly into the monkey's fur in warning.

"This changes nothing." He growls before he kisses her again, and Marisa hums in amused agreement. Her hand remains clasped against his chest as she meets him movement for movement, matching his intensity with her own; suddenly, as was always the case with all of their escapades, this had turned into an unspoken competition of who could outdo the other.

Their daemons play a different game altogether, for the most part. There were brief hints of their inner conflict visible, through clenched monkey hands and bared snow leopard teeth, but they were otherwise infinitely more content to instead settle in a more comfortable embrace, nuzzling against each other's fur in silent reminiscence; _'I missed you.'_ Words remain unspoken between them, but they understand each other's intentions all the same.

Stelmaria, however, _feels_ when Marisa's teeth dare to scrape against the bottom of Asriel's lip, hard enough to draw blood. It's enough to break the daemons' fragile peace. She responds in unison with her human counterpart, pouncing on the monkey to pin him down against the cold floor just as Asriel snakes his free hand around Marisa's waist and once again pins her back against the wall; both of them breathless, both of them stubborn. 

True to old form, they and their daemons break off at the same time, although his hand is still in her hair and her hand is still clutching his shirt and she can smell a hint of tokay in the air between their lips. He pulls away from her first, leaving her room to notice how flushed his lips were. It's only when he runs his thumb against his bottom lip to feel for blood that she realises only part of the redness was blood, and the other part was where some of her lipstick had transferred to his skin.

She tentatively - much more so than she'd care to admit - reaches a hand up and cups his cheek, her thumb rubbing away the last parts of her makeup that had seen fit to leave her lips and join the corner of his instead. The moment she does that, Stelmaria _purrs_. The monkey curls deft fingers into the crook of her neck and he presses himself against her fur, and Asriel's grip on Marisa's hair is released in favour of trailing his hand softly through it instead. 

Marisa can't keep herself away. She leans in for a second kiss - a much slower one this time; her lips pressed gently against his as if to wipe away any trace of the anger and the lust that had triggered their first kiss.

Asriel responds in kind, and once again snakes his arm around her waist, pinning their bodies together gently, but firmly. The last of their animosity slinks back into the shadowy recesses of their minds; not defeated - never _truly_ defeated - but silenced for now, allowing their hearts to rejoice at temporarily overcoming the universe's desire to constantly pry them apart. Marisa feels weightless against him. She can't remember the last time that her body had not felt weighed down by the finality of her sins.

In his arms, and with the moon's light still radiating against their bodies, she felt as if they were _celestial;_ too powerful in their ways to simply be earthly, and so strongly compelled towards each other that the cause could only possibly be explained by astronomical forces.

But this blissful euphoria only lasts for a few seconds. This was never a permanent release, and it was suddenly all too much to bear, because they were like the sun and the moon, cursed by the universe and the stars and the very constellation that bore their daughter's namesake to forever drift apart, always close enough to know of each other, but never close enough to be able to truly meet and merge into something singular.

Her heart felt heavier now than it did at the start of the night, and her lungs are burning. She breaks their kiss before her emotions have the chance to overwhelm her, and instead leans against him - foreheads touching, with the sounds of their breathing and their heartbeats slowly returning her to her senses.

The monkey is now curled up against Stelmaria, the two of them sharing their own comfortable silence. She knows this because she can sense the snow leopard's fur surrounding her daemon, and she knows that he too can feel her anguish, but that he is ignoring it in favor of relishing every second together that they can get.

She doesn't know how long the four of them spend in those fragile embraces. All she knows is that the moment Asriel starts to speak, she's prepared for everything to come crashing back down to Earth; for reality to wash over her in a cold, unforgiving wave until she could no longer think of her longing.

"Even after all these years, I still don't understand your need to self-sabotage."

Sometimes, she really hates it when she's right.

Marisa knew she was a lot of things - a liar; a narcissist; a sinner, to name but a few - but at no point in her life has she _ever_ considered 'self-sabotager' to be among them. Anger simmers in her chest at that insulation and almost immediately, she leans away from him.

"Excuse me?"

"You used to want to change the world," it only makes her angrier when she notices how his voice has become much softer than it had been when he'd first confronted her in this hallway. "You had grand dreams of taking power and using it to make this world a better place, an academically _free_ place - for _everyone._ "

"You're projecting your own ideals onto me."

"Am I?" Asriel steps away from her and throws his arms out wide, daring her to try and challenge him further whilst he remains swept away in his own single-minded beliefs. "I recall it was _you,_ Marisa, who told me once when we slept under the stars that you would love nothing more than to wield so much power that you could shape society to your will. It was you who continued to help me with my work and learn all you could about it - not just because it interested you, but also because you _believed_ in it's implications--"

"-Just as any scholar who's briefly forgotten to fear the Authority would be--"

"-Need I remind you that the whole reason you were introduced to my work is because you needed a temporary escape, because the Magisterium denied you a doctorate simply because you are a woman and you couldn't make your peace with that."

For once, she isn't sure how best to respond. A deep, twisted pit of unease forms in her stomach, because she knew he was right. Everything he'd just told her was true. She'd been ashamed to admit that the denial of her rightfully-earned doctorate had left a painful sense of emptiness in her heart, and Edward's uncaring dismissal of her hurt had turned that emptiness to bitterness, and she had been faced with the choice of allowing it to consume her or putting it to good use by channeling it into another project.

She had chosen the latter, and Asriel hadn't even let her finish venting her frustrations to him before he'd pulled her into his lab and opened her eyes to a whole new way of looking at the world. It hadn't been the thing that had sparked her desire for power, nor had it been her first foray into unorthodox topics of research, but it had amplified her curiosity almost to the point of becoming unbearable.

And yet all the same, she regains her composure, raises her chin and retorts proudly; Authority forbid that she allows him to ensnare her once more within his heresy. "That was a moment of weakness, and not once that I have repeated since. I still have the power that I wanted, but I have not turned my back on my faith in the process."

"It is nothing more than a _fragment_ of what you could have. Does your ambition mean nothing to you anymore?" His voice raises slightly with every syllable; he is too absorbed in his passion to think about levelling his tone. "Imagine what we could do if we tore this oppressive system down; if we struck off the invisible chains that are holding humanity back--"

"The Magisterium would never allow it--"

"Then they are welcome to try and stop me. But given that not even The Authority himself has succeeded yet - and if he's as terrifying as the Magisterium claims him to be, no doubt he'll have tried already - I don't fancy their odds."

Asriel rests his hands against her shoulders, some of his previous gentleness lost in his current passion, and she remains captivated by his conviction.

"It's not too late to work with me, Marisa. You and I, together...we could bring this world to its knees and reforge it into something better; for us, and for _Lyra,_ and for everyone else who the Magisterium has wronged. Our daughter could grow up knowing only freedom from theocracy, and you would no longer be denied anything on the basis of how you were born. I _know_ you, Marisa - I daresay better than anyone else does - so look me in the eyes and try to lie to me now. Try and convince me that you don't still want that."

Her head is swimming. With every word that left his lips, she felt herself drawn closer and closer to temptation, and the worst part was that he wasn't even trying to sell her a lie. He truly believed in this idealistic vision of what their future could be like; he was already lost in the waves of his own passionate intensity, still convinced he can overthrow any gravitational pull that threatened to separate them, and she couldn't hold his stare for long without threatening to be swept away in those same idealistic passions herself.

But it was only a dream. She has once before risked so much and lost it all on the chance that she could make a better life with his involvement, but she knows too deeply of the Magisterium's power now. Asriel was just one man - no matter how compelling or alluring he could be, he could not match their strength, and she could see already that his ambition was foredoomed to tragedy.

She could not - _would not_ \- allow herself to fall with him yet again.

"I won't work with you, Asriel."

It sounds infinitely less confident than she'd hoped for, and yet his expression darkens all the same. "You don't want this kind of work?"

This time, she is far more sure of herself, and deliberately taunts him with a honeyed tone. "I know that it must be hard for you to be denied...but no. I don't want that kind of work. I can take what I need through what I do with the Magisterium."

"...You really _do_ believe that, don't you?"

"Of course I do."

Asriel takes a step back as if her affirmation has offended him, and Stelmaria moves to sit by his side, coldly ignoring the golden monkey and staring straight at Marisa. He too is unflinching in his stare; the wildly ambitious sparkle that had previously been in his eyes has now steeled over into something colder - much like his stance - and when he next speaks there is an icy harshness to his voice that seals over all the cracks they'd made in their antagonism towards each other over the course of the evening.

"Very well. Do what you will, Marisa - work with the Magisterium. Say your prayers to the Authority. Waste your life on delusions of grandeur. I won't try to stop you in that respect, but you will not interfere in Lyra's life and if you won't work with me, then I also won't let you interfere in mine."

She brushes her dress down and straightens herself, desperately trying to ignore the pain in her chest brought on by his flippant dismissal. If hearts could talk, this one would be screaming _I told you so_ at her right now. _I told you to stop tempting fate and to stay away from him. I told you he would only continue to hurt us._

But hearts can't speak, and so she lies to herself by dismissing it as a projected thought from her daemon; as if they weren't as intrinsically linked to each other as she is to her heart.

"So just like that, you've decided you've had enough of me?" 

"I could never have enough of the Marisa I once knew and loved. You know that. But I've had enough of whatever soulless monster's currently standing in her place." He takes one last long look at her, committing this tirade to memory, and then turns to walk back into the ballroom without her, fixing his tie back into its proper position along the way.

"Your heresy will one day be the downfall of you, Asriel." She says to him after his first couple of steps, for no other reason than because she needed to hear herself challenge him once more. To remind herself that she still had her control even in spite of his best attempts to undo it just now.

He looks over his shoulder and smirks at her, hands tucked into his pockets in the most annoyingly cocksure stance Marisa swears she's ever seen in her life.

"I'm counting on it. And I'll drag you and the Magisterium down with me."

He saunters back down the corridor as if relishing a secret victory. Stelmaria hesitates to follow him at first, eyes darting from the monkey to Marisa and back again as if pining for a love long since lost, before the pain of her growing distance from Asriel forces her to run after him - and the monkey instinctively moves to chase her, only to be stopped by Marisa's heel stamping down on his tail.

"We will never go back to how things were before Lyra was born," she reminds him once man and snow leopard were both out of earshot. "If we let him work his way back into our hearts, we will be lost."

 _Strength is salvation,_ she silently reminds herself at the same time.

The door at the end of the hallway shuts with a bang and they are left alone, but enlightened. It hadn't been the triumphant evening she'd hoped for, but the abruptness of her reunion with Asriel and subsequent separation from him had once again opened her mind to the opportunities that would come with successfully interfering with his particular brand of heresy. 

She had much to think about, and the night no longer felt warm or welcoming to her, and she wanted a clear mind when the morning came back around so that she could immediately get to tracking his work and taking what she could to further her own research. The monkey looks up at her, half full of desire to leave this ball and half in fear of how she might react to that particular wish; when they make eye contact, however, she finds herself in full agreement with him for the first time in a long time.

"We've done what we came here to do. Let's not overstay our welcome."

Asriel is nowhere to be seen as she proceeds back through the ballroom to the exit on the other side. But as she walks back out into the night, Marisa realises - with a twinge of solace that she doesn't care to openly admit to - that for all their attempts to wipe each other from their respective memories, they were too inexplicably bound to each other on a fundamental level.

This would not be the last night that they saw each other. And she was somehow, in spite of everything, entirely at peace with that knowledge.

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate fic-description: That time I wanted to write some self-indulgent fic to please my dancer brain and got very, very carried away...
> 
> I'm grouping this and all my future Masriel fics into a series - I've got a couple of ideas in the works already but am open to more so come yell at me on tumblr (@lanternslides) or twitter (@beauregret) about this disaster couple and things we wish we could've seen if the show had given us any flashbacks.  
> Or alternatively just let me know what you thought of this fic - any and all opinions are welcome ❤


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